The Start

The shades are closed in our apartment. Our apartment. Did you catch that? And the clothes are put away in drawers, hung on hangers, paperwork is on our desk, bed is made with our sheets and the fridge is filled with our food.

Oh how good it feels to be home. To be in a home that we can call ours – for three to four months. We are here temporarily – until either he or I find a job and we can afford somewhere nicer.

Don’t get me wrong – this is the location we want – on the corner of State St and Division, but we’d prefer a place where it isn’t mostly students living here.

(Side Note: We are on the 12th floor and the building across from us has a man hanging on outside cleaning windows. That is freaky. Just had to mention it.)

Joan, a squirrelly, talkative older woman, showed us three studios on Saturday to choose from. One had a separate kitchen but an old bathroom, one was nasty and dirty and the third one had high ceilings, new tiles in the bathroom, fresh paint and new carpets. I think she showed us the other two to put the third one in good light. Since Labor Day was happening, we couldn’t move in until Tuesday.

Luckily, two amazingly generous friends let us stay at their place over the weekend while they visited their parents in Ohio. They saved us. Their gorgeous two-story place in Bucktown was exactly what we needed to relax in after our big night out on Saturday.

Our big night out with friends from England – one who was dating a girl who happened to be a childhood friend of another friend who lived in Chicago, but they didn’t meet through each other. Make sense? So, we all went – all the incestuous group of us and we headed to a bar called – just guess. Go ahead. The English – I swear to God, the bar they took us to was called The English. I don’t invent this stuff.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever really left England with all these Brits around. I love it – I get the best of both worlds.

The Romanian cocktail waitress served us well, Englishman Matt Hoy kept the shots coming and the random raucous joke while Ella (his American girlfriend) and I compared notes on dating these Brits, the new couple said their first set of “I Love You’s,” we all jumped up and down, Jock and I kept up our American version of overdoing things and I half-heartedly attempted a dance-off with a set of men clearly out of my dancing abilities. Didn’t realize it at the time.

Look, not even a week and we made on the Chicago Scene! (Last time we’ll be doing that for a couple of months – that’s for sure. Now is time to settle, be quiet inside, save money and find a job.)

My next post will be something more philosophical about change, about finding jobs, setting up shop, starting new. Possibly about this cleanse Jock and I have started today.

In the meantime, Matty Hoy – here’s your shout out. (He’s the guy third from left with the dazed expression in his eyes.)

11 thoughts on “The Start

  1. I'm married to an Englishman and love England (I am Portuguese). We moved a lot for a while and looking to move again so I know the feeling of starting over. Except that now we don't know if we should just move house (the prices out there are not realistic for a half decent place) or move country. (We're currently in Portugal in an area with lots of British people). Anyway, I came across your blog by accident and really like it. Best of luck with everything!

  2. Sounds like it's all starting off good !! Excellent! And bestest of luck with the job hunt! I know you'll do just fine but I have fingers crossed for you anyhow ;o) Cheers !

    • Lady Kline! Third time's a charm! yes, I know all about the trials and tribulations of this cleanse. Trust me. This is my third time and our last day! Thankfully it's over. How is Maryland? SOrry I missed your face!

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